


Hold On

by cherlosity



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Drug Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 13:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherlosity/pseuds/cherlosity
Summary: Life doesn't always play fair. It doesn't give you want you want, just what you need. And you gotta make do with that.(a.k.a another 'what if' story but it takes places a year before the musical)





	Hold On

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Josh, Clyde, Joaquin, Sean & Florencia. Without their help and encouragement, this wouldn't be possible.

_As a kid, I used to be scared of death._

_Would it hurt?_

_Will it be slow?_

_Then you grow older and start asking the more complicated questions._

_Am I good enough for Heaven?_

_Is there even an afterlife?_

_I don’t remember when I stopped believing in it. I don’t remember when I stopped caring. I don’t care anymore if it hurts like fuck or if I simply cease to exist after that. All I know is that in the end… it’ll all be over._

_No more pain, no more crying, no more being the fuck up – the piece of shit everyone’s gotta deal with. I’ll be gone for good._

_Forever._

 

The alarm in Connor’s phone stirs him awake. Orange hues pour through from a narrow opening in the curtains, shedding light in the otherwise dark room. He stares up at the ceiling, slowly blinking.

He’s had these dreams recently where he drifts in a strange void. Black, silent. Throughout the entire time he goes back and forth between being and watching himself. It’s a strange dream but of the majority that leaves him crying, it’s one of the better ones.

His mom used to say that dreams meant something so maybe this one does too. A premonition of sorts. He snorts, _Yeah right_ , and pushes himself to get out of bed. Some days are harder than the rest but he feels lighter today. No heaviness that has him pinned down and drained even after his long hours of sleep. Out of habit, however, he still drags his feet to the bathroom.

It’s quick business and he pointedly avoids the mirror as he combs his fingers through freshly washed hair. On the days where it’s not like the world’s drowning him in tar, Connor actually does dress decently – meaning it’s not simply a hoodie and whatever shirt he sees first. Instead he wears a grey denim shirt with a dark tee underneath. His faded aviator jacket is tied around him for later. He pulls on his jeans and socks before heading out the room, dragging his feet all the while.

The smell of bacon and eggs wafts through the air as he makes his way downstairs and to the table. His mom is busying herself with adding in a new batch on the plate when she notices him and smiles – in relief, he notes. She probably thought she would have to fetch him herself. Drag him out like she often did. “Good morning, Connor.”

His drops his gaze and pulls up a chair for himself.

“Hurry up and eat.” Dad adds.

From the upper corner of his peripheral view, Connor can see Zoe at the end of the table. Her head is up, facing him. He doesn’t look back. “I’m going to be late because of you.”

“Well, it’s definitely not gonna be the first time.”

“Because you just _have_ to take thirty minutes in the bathroom.”

He scowls, “Oh I’m sorry. I had to unclog the drain ‘cause _someone’s_ hair can’t stay on her _fucking_ _head_.”

Their parents don’t interject – mom’s back in the kitchen and dad’s too busy reading emails to notice anything else. Connor doesn’t need to raise his eyes to know that Zoe’s glaring at him. Good. She ruined his mood. They eat in silence till their dad finally tears his eyes from his phone and gets up to start the car.

If Zoe could drive she’d have left the house a long time ago. Even now she takes her sweet time in coming back, always having some sort of plans with her friends or the band as an excuse but Connor knows the truth. She doesn’t want to be here. Neither does he but the difference is that she has actual people to turn to while all Connor’s got are the packets of weed stuffed under his mattress. He thinks about it on the drive to school. They’re all he anticipates nowadays. The only reason why he bothers staying at home besides the obvious fact that he has nowhere else to be.

“Bye, dad.” Zoe bothers to say, before unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car. She doesn’t wait for a reply and Connor doesn’t wait to hear one said to him as well.

This is where Connor stays behind a few minutes and Zoe rushes up the school entrance like it’s a haven, a shelter from the apocalypse. Maybe to her it is. He can already see her shoulders relaxing and hears the smile when she calls out to a person she knows. It makes his gut twist and he starts walking.

Connor knows he hasn’t been the best brother – or a brother at all for that matter. Names are shot left and right, he’s called her plenty and she’s taken to calling him a monster. When they were younger he thought it was normal. Siblings fight and drift apart, don’t they? He thought it was normal till the point that he realized he pushed too far – and is still pushing. And every time he’s cooled down enough, the self-hate sinks in. He isn’t even mad at Zoe most of the time, just at himself, which makes him a ticking time bomb for everyone else.

Connor knows he’s messed up, knows he needs to fix it. He _wants_ to fix it. But how do you fix something like this? How do you mend years of all his shit and make it all okay again? He glares at the dirty tiles of the hallway as if it can give him the answer, sees feet scurry off to give him more space than he needs. In this school he’s known as the crazy kid. The freak. Most students are wise enough to steer clear.

Most.

Connor would’ve seen it coming and dodged if what slammed into him was a person and not a fucking _door._

“ _Fuck!_ ” He hisses, hand shooting up to cup his injured nose.

A gasp comes from behind it along with a string of broken apologies. It’s a boy from his class. Evan… something. The one with dirty blonde hair who basically wears the same striped shirt every day but in different colors. Connor sees him turn white as paper and is all but ready to return the favor when Evan shuts the door on his face. There’s a moment of stunned confusion before the anger contorts his face and Connor clenches the door handle.

“You’re dead!” He shouts.

“I’m sorry!” Evan shouts back from the other side.

His voice is shaky, afraid, but Connor’s mind doesn’t process that, face red in rage and humiliation. Evan must’ve done that on purpose. He knew Connor was walking by and opened the door right on time, where everyone could see. He must be snickering to himself in there. Everyone’s enjoying his little joke. _Go on and laugh at the freak._

Connor’s hand curls into a fist and he raises it above his head, ready to bang the door when—

“Murphy.”

The tone is deep, calm, but there’s a warning there and Connor grits his teeth. His name is called again before his arm finally drops to his side and he takes a step back.

“Is there a problem here?”

It’s the principal. The man with gentle eyes and a military background, who still holds himself like the soldier he once was with a commanding tone befitting a general. He arches a thick brow, his dark complexion pallid under the fluorescent lights but he looks no less intimidating. Connor lets his head fall.

“No, sir.”

“Good. I didn’t think so.” He gestures at the emptying hallway with a tilt of his head, “Now run off to class.”

And run off, he does – or well, _walk_ – begrudgingly shooting a final glance at the door before making his way to first period.

It may come off as a surprise to others but Connor does listen in class. He tries to understand, to learn what’s being taught. He does want to get good grades, show his parents that he’s not _stupid_ at least. Of course, that backfires sometimes and he’s left frustrated because he just can’t concentrate. Nothing sinks in and the voices grow all the more louder, drowning out everything else.

_What’s the point in all this? You’re never gonna make it. You’ll never be more than a disappointment. Everyone knows that. You know that. Just fucking accept it._

_There is no FUTURE for you._

When the bell rings, it’s already recess. He’s somehow survived three periods and is the last to walk out of the classroom, slinging his bag over him and on his shoulder.

“Connor?” His history teacher speaks, gathering some papers and tapping them on his desk to straighten them. He looks up at him and Connor looks down. Connor’s taller than most teachers and towers over the man by several long inches, yet where one would feel intimidated by it, Mr. Hamilton only finds amusement. He’s one of the ‘cool’ teachers. The kind you can joke around with and knows what a meme is. The rare kind.

“I was grading your test paper yesterday and…” Mr. Hamilton trails off and Connor’s eyes fall to the stack of papers in his hands. “Look, I quiz you guys each week so it’ll stick for when your exams come in. I know you study hard, the essay you made proves it but,”

“You want me to study harder.”

“I want you to ask for _help_ ,” Connor’s gaze flickers back up. “When you need it. It doesn’t have to be me, it could be one of your classmates. Maybe Justin – or Alana.”

“I don’t need a tutor.”

“Well your grades say otherwise.” Mr. Hamilton say, pointedly, and when Connor only frowns he sighs and adds, “Just… think about it, okay?”

Connor gives a curt nod and leaves. He can hear him sigh again before the door closes.

He doesn’t need help. He _knows_ he doesn’t need help, knows he can get it all done on his own. He isn’t dumb. He doesn’t need someone at his back proving that he is by pointing out where he’s wrong. They’ll all just use this to mock him later, anyway. The freak’s _stupid_ too, go figure.

He doesn’t make it to the cafeteria. Halfway there he stops and instead turns round the corner to the back of the school. Connor doesn’t know why no one goes there but he’s grateful for it as he takes in the view alone.

Orange and red leaves decorate the trees, a few fall from the gentle breeze dancing through. Autumn is here and will be for the next three months. There isn’t much, just a small field stretching through till grass meets cement several meters away, then it’s the road. He takes only a couple steps forward when he realizes he isn’t alone after all.

Under a tree there’s a boy huddled up, with dirty blonder hair and a striped shirt. He’s hugging his knees, head ducked between them, shoulders shaking. He takes a peek up and when they see each other, immediately looks away.

Connor doesn’t remember seeing Evan in class. Then again, he wasn’t exactly searching. His eyes were glued to his desk for three straight hours. But now, having seen the puffiness in the other’s eyelids, the redness in his eyes and the fresh tears rolling down his cheek – the image makes Connor’s gut churn, reminding him of what happened earlier today and he thinks…

_Was it because of me?_

Guilt is not unfamiliar to him. It comes in after his outbursts, after everything and anything that comes out of his mouth. But he doesn’t know what to do with it. Or rather, he can’t. Instead, Connor makes his way to the other side where he sits beneath the shade of another tree. Evan’s stopped shaking but he still hides. Connor ignores him for a good minute, then another. His hand rests on top of his bag and the slight bump at the bottom where his lunch is. He pulls it out.

“Hey, uh, did you eat?”

It takes a moment but Evan slowly lifts his head. His brows pinch in confusion.

“W-What?”

“I said: did you eat?”

“Um… yes?”

Connor rolls his eyes, “You’re a shitty liar. Catch.” Evan isn’t given a second to prepare before a sandwich is thrown at him. His arms quickly uncurl from his knees and he clumsily grabs for it. “It’s organic. Hope you’re not allergic to… all that.”

“What about you?”

“Not hungry.”

Evan unwraps the plastic and peels open the bread slices to inspect whatever he can from the slop of white – likely mayo – and everything mixed into it. He shoots Connor a wary glance.

“It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It’s not.” Evan replies and Connor rolls his eyes again. “Just shut up and eat.”

Finally, he takes a bite and Connor watches as Evan’s eyes widen. He chews faster and gets another bite in.

“Good?”

There’s a sound of agreement and several nods. The corner of Connor’s lips tilt the slightest bit upward and he leans his back on the tree behind him.

“Good.”


End file.
